


Opening Times and Admissions

by phantomreviewer



Series: A Thousand Shards Of Pottery [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, museum!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/pseuds/phantomreviewer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tiny museum is empty, and Enjolras is the only guest that they’ve had today. He hasn’t paid entry, his visits after lectures have become so regular that Grantaire doesn’t even think to ask him to pay up for a concession’s ticket. Especially as Enjolras never really looks at the exhibits, or the bare skeleton of the old villa before them, instead he pesters Grantaire when he’s not working, and sits making notes on revolutions and liberty in the backroom when Grantaire is with paying visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opening Times and Admissions

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to take part in 'take your fandom to work' day back when I actually had a job. I never got around to it, but now as a good-for-nothing student, I thought I'd give it a go.

Grantaire has his feet up on the desk and a guide book over his face when he hears the annoying chime that accompanies the opening of the door.

He should spring into action, taking his dirty boots off the display of merchandise and make a move towards the tickets, but just as he’s raising a hand to remove the guidebook from its position shielding his eyes from the sun and recognises the footfalls before him.

“Dionysus.”

He smiles beneath the gaudily designed brochure , although he knows that Enjolras can’t see it and settles further back into his chair.

“Apollo.”

Grantaire doesn’t need to be able to see him to know what Enjolras will be doing. Enjolras will read over their latest posters, ‘ _The Local Area In Roman Times_ ’ and ‘ _What Life Was Like For Roman Children_ ’ illustrated by Grantaire’s bored hand and involving far too many bright colours for the topic- and then he will step towards the office.

Grantaire is already reaching into his pocket for the bedraggled set of keys and when he estimates that Enjolras is close enough he hold out his hand. He collides with Enjolras’ firm thigh, having overestimated how far away he stood, but Enjolras only laughs and takes the keys and then Grantaire can hear them clicking into place and the muffled thump of what can only be Enjolras’ bag on the floor.

For a while they stay like that, Grantaire only half conscious and listening to Enjolras type in the office, until Enjolras makes a huffing noise that Grantaire suspects to be a laugh.

A moment later something hits Grantaire in the chest and he frowns. Tugging the booklet away from his face and settles it back among the others that are for sale. It’s his name-badge, that Enjolras has clearly thrown at him from where he’d left it in the office.

“Oh, really Enjolras.”

Enjolras looks up from his laptop, as though it hadn’t been him who was accosting Grantaire.

“You need to wear your identification, for members of the public to be able to recognise you.”

Grantaire rolls his eyes, pinning the lopsided name badge to his chest and removing his boots from the worktop.

“Because business is really heaving in here today isn’t it?”

The tiny museum is empty, and Enjolras is the only guest that they’ve had today. He hasn’t paid entry, his visits after lectures have become so regular that Grantaire doesn’t even think to ask him to pay up for a concession’s ticket. Especially as Enjolras never really looks at the exhibits, or the bare skeleton of the old villa before them, instead he pesters Grantaire when he’s not working, and sits making notes on revolutions and liberty in the backroom when Grantaire is with paying visitors.

Grantaire hasn’t failed to notice that after Enjolras leaves the museum that their donations tin is always a little fuller. It makes it very tricky to balance the books which state that there have been no visitors, but he doesn’t mention it to Enjolras, and Enjolras never has to pay for a ticket.

Enjolras is still typing in the little back office and Grantaire looks down as his name label as he rearranges the desk from where his feet had knocked items from their normal positions.

It reads like any other generic name badge, with the logo of the museum in the top right corner and “Grantaire” printed against the light green card. That’s how it had looked initially. After a number of confused children trying to pronounce his name properly Grantaire had taken to the little piece of cardboard, lightly crossing out his name and writing underneath it “R” alongside a rough sketch of himself, as though it wasn’t obvious enough. It was appreciated though, and the nickname had stuck.

There’s nothing to do in the museum at this time, they’ve only got another few hours open and Grantaire thinks that it’s very unlikely that anyone is going to come into the small museum ona musty Wednesday afternoon but Grantaire stands anyway.

Making his way from behind the desk he potters over to their current display on ' _Roman Toys and Games_ ' and idly throws the knucklebones and catches them on the back of his hand. He’s become rather astute at it, some people try and test their sobriety by walking in a straight line toe-to-heel, but if Grantaire can catch over half of the small bones on the back of his hand then he’s sober enough to work. It’s a skill that he’s learnt over years of working at the museum and he’s been banned by his boss to challenging children to a game.

He’s got a bit of a headache at the moment, but he catches all of the knucklebones and he hasn’t actually had a drink today. Well, not while he was on shift. He’d faced an ultimatum a few months ago, and Grantaire really couldn’t afford to lose his job. He hadn’t sobered up completely, he didn’t know how to, much to his friends- and Enjolras’ chagrin, but he’d been able to keep his job.

The tapping of the keyboard has stopped, and Grantaire turns towards the small office to see Enjolras filling the small travel kettle and taking up one of the chipped mugs that are kept in the office.

Enjolras has his own tea kept in the small office among the collection of those who work full time at the museum.

If Grantaire’s boss thinks that this is peculiar he doesn’t mention anything to Grantaire.

“Make me a coffee?”

Enjolras doesn’t reply, but he picks up the mug that is unofficially Grantaire’s.

Grantaire turns back to the remains of the old house before him, and leans on the railings, meant to keep enthusiastic and clumsy visitors alike from touching the thousand year old brick work.

Enjolras nudges his sleeve with the mug and Grantaire accepts it gratefully still looking over the villa remains. He doesn’t turn his head towards Enjolras, but feels him settle beside him.

“It’s humbling, isn’t it Grantaire?”

Grantaire hums around his mouthful of coffee -it’s a bit too weak for his tastes, but Enjolras always puts too much milk in and Grantaire has given up mentioning this- and waits for Enjolras to continue. He knows he will, Grantaire has known Enjolras for long enough to know that he doesn’t pick up thoughts without trying to verbally dissect them.

And he does.

“The things that happen to great civilisations. The things that would have been known when this house was great are astounding, and we just won’t know them. They’ve been lost to time. What was once such a great civilisation, and now look at what remains. Do you suppose that this will happen to us?”

The question isn’t rhetorical, and Enjolras raises his own mug to his lips, waiting for Grantaire’s response.

“Oh, of course it will. We’re nothing but dust in the end.”

Enjolras laughs next to him, and Grantaire smiles in response, still looking across as the bare bones of the once marvellous house.

“Always so cheerful Grantaire.”

“It’s what you keep me around for.”

Enjolras hums and Grantaire can’t keep the smile from his face.

“I suppose it is, yes.”

Grantaire holds out his mug to Enjolras to chink, and Enjolras taps his own mug against Grantaire’s.

“You need my Enjolras, without me you’d float away on your hopeless optimism.”

“It isn’t hopeless.”

“Of course it’s not.”

The silence that falls then is companionable, and occasionally their arms brush against each other’s as they raise their mugs to their lips.

And then Enjolras’ phone chimes, which seems to snap them out of their reverie. Grantaire turns first, facing the door in the unlikely event of a paying visitor, idly tossing his mug from hand to hand. Enjolras checks his phone and sighs, it is only a faint sound but Grantaire catches it and looks quizzically at him.

“I’ve got to go back to campus, a friend of mine, Laigle needs to-, never mind. But afraid I’ve got to go. You’re working tomorrow right?”

Grantaire hums in ascent. He’s been lucky this week with the shifts that he’s been given, a full week’s pay is nothing to sniff at. He’s one of the few full time staff members, which more often than not results in him manning the tiny museum alone on the quiet days when the volunteers are studying.

Enjolras continues.

“I’ve got a 2:15 seminar, so I’ll probably stop by at about four?”

Grantaire smiles, taking Enjolras mug from his hands as they walk towards the office together. Enjolras is packing away his laptop and pulling his coat on when Grantaire continues.

“I’m not working on my own tomorrow. There’s a school trip coming in, and I’m apparently not trusted to supervise thirty children alone, so the boss will be keeping an eye on me as well. So yeah, there might be a host of bratty kids here when you arrive.”

Grantaire has his back from Enjolras, vaguely introducing the mugs to the lukewarm water that the taps can provide.

Enjolras waits until he’s turned back around to face him, drying his hands on his trousers as he does.

“Your keys are on the desk.”

They don’t hug goodbye, they don’t even shake hands, but Enjolras smiles at Grantaire before he steps for the door.

Grantaire is just reaching for the keys when the door opens, accompanied by the irritating ding of the chime, and a young woman steps in carrying a child that can only be her daughter. Neither of them look particularly as though local Roman history is what they’re interested in, but Grantaire smiles at them regardless.

He sees Enjolras smirk before he steps through the door and Grantaire knocks off a clumsy salute to him before turning back to the visitors, who have approached the sales desk.

**Author's Note:**

> Grantaire's museum is practically the one that that I worked at for years, and Enjolras is a history student because if I have to suffer through writing a history dissertation then so does he. 
> 
> Not sure how regularly I'm going to be updating this !verse, but I've got some ideas to where this can go.


End file.
